


Without Struggle

by weatheredlaw



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: Body Horror, Condoms, Confined/Caged, Consuming Raw Meat, F/M, Incest, Magic, Medieval Condoms, Medieval Medicine, Shapeshifting, Sibling Incest, Werewolves, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:32:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She closes her eyes and tells herself that she doesn't <i>have</i> to do this. That the medicine will work and they can move on and add this to the dozen other things they simply pretend didn't happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without Struggle

**Author's Note:**

> There is no bestiality in this fic I don't know how to tag for that in the warnings but there is no bestiality so. There's that.

"This is unnecessary." 

Gretel shuts the door of the cage, turns the key, and slips it in her pocket. "I disagree."

"You know I'm not gonna do anything." He looks a little pathetic, his hands clutching the bars and he has to know she doesn't like this anymore than he does, but she's not risking anything. "I feel sick."

"It's the medicine. The doctor--"

"The _witch_ ," he says, between clenched teeth.

"--said you'd feel dizzy. You need to eat." Hansel looks at the bag she's brought in from the butcher's, shaking his head. "Hansel. _Please._ " She reaches in and pulls out the cut of meat, blood slicking her hands candy red. Her stomach turns as she drops it between the bars.

"I'm not eating that."

"You will or you'll be hungry. She said--"

"I'm not trusting a damn _thing_ she said. You don't--" She reaches her hand between the bars and lands a solid smack across his face. He doesn't even flinch. Gretel thinks the skin has reddened quicker than usual, but realizes that she's dropped the meat and slapped him with her bloody hand. 

Hansel reaches between the bars and lifts the steak from the floor, retreats to the back of the cage, and begins to eat.

 

 

 

He's starting to change when she's finishing the salt ring outside the cabin. 

The sound of bones cracking and resetting and muscles stretching and splitting hits her ears when she bolts the door shut, and her stomach turns. Gretel turns, keeping herself pressed to the opposite end of the room, watching her brother writhe in pain on the other side, legs thrashing and beating against the bars of the cage.

" _Gretel_ \--" She covers her ears. "Gretel, _please._ "

She knows what he wants. 

She will not give this to him. Not today. 

" _Leave_ ," he says, and she runs to the other room, slamming it shut behind her and waiting until the howling subsides and the sun is up before she finally gives herself a chance to sleep at all. 

 

 

 

In the morning, he doesn't even argue when she comes back with another slab of meet. Gretel looks away while he devours every bit, wipes his mouth on a torn sleeve and promptly falls asleep. She sits by the cage, stroking his hand. She isn't worried about the permanence -- the witch who gave her the herbs can be trusted and Gretel should go back to her, to see about anything else that will cure him sooner. 

She just hates all the _waiting_. 

For dinner, she brings in a rabbit, sets the liver and heart aside for her brother, and cooks it over the fireplace.

"Smells good." She turns and gives him a thin smile. "How long was I out?"

"Since sun-up."

Hansel winces, looking at his torn clothes and leaning against the bars of the cage. "My head hurts." 

"Feverfew tea," she says flatly, pointing to the mug next to the cage. "Doctor said--"

"Witch," he mutters. Gretel doesn't even finish. He slurps loudly, so she smacks, chewing her food loudly with her mouth open until Hansel dissolves into a fit of laughter, downing the rest of the tea and burping loudly. "Aw, damn, this for me too?" He lifts the tin plate piled with heart and liver and anything else she could salvage.

"Only the best for you."

He huffs. "Gotta tell you. Cooked meat might not taste the same after this is over." He clears his throat. "It's uh. It's gonna be over, ain't it?"

Gretel presses her lips together. 

"Right."

 

 

 

The second night, she manages to sleep through it, but the witch had told her she wouldn't want to see him. The more she thinks about this, the more she desperately wants to. Hansel would hate himself if she did, but then, Hansel hates himself enough for the both of them already, so she isn't worried about that. 

The third night, she waits until she hears it, the sound of his body cracking and shifting, his voice gurgling up into an unearthly howl. She closes her eyes and tells herself that she doesn't _have_ to do this. That the medicine will work and they can move on and add this to the dozen other things they simply pretend didn't happen. 

But fuck that. 

She pushes the door open and gets on her belly, dragging her elbows across the floor and pulling herself into the other room. Gretel doesn't know _what_ she's expecting -- half-man, half-wolf. Total wolf. Hell, he might be turning into a dormouse for all she knows. Magic's a bitch. 

He is a panting, brown beast with long, ratted fur. Everything about him is too thin and too lanky and too _sick_. Gretel realizes with a jolt that the wolf her brother is turning into is _sick_ and it is _dying_ and she has been _sleeping in the other room._ The wolf looks up, breathing labored, and snaps weakly at the bars, a whine dying in its throat that so clearly says _go_ that Gretel runs from the room, going into the back of the house and throwing herself against the door, trying to scrub the image of the dying animal from her mind.

On the third night, she doesn't sleep at all.

 

 

 

"I'm going out."

Hansel rolls over, naked, blinking into the sunlight. "What?"

"You're dying. This is unacceptable."

"I am not _dying_ , Gretel."

"I saw you, last night." He looks down. "You know I did so don't lie about it. I saw you and I'm finding the _witch_ and I'm going to get her to give me a cure."

"And if she won't?"

"Then I'm going persuade her to give me the name of someone who _will._ "

She turns on her heel, slinging her crossbow over her back and hearing, just before she shuts the door behind her: "That's my girl."

 

 

 

Hanna the witch lives alone in a home a few miles from the cabin they've taken up in. Gretel instantly feels at peace here, but she recognizes the herbs burning on their platters and knows it's all an illusion. Her fear is being squashed by magic, but, for now, that doesn't bother her. She needs a clear head.

"The sickness is spreading more rapidly than we thought." Hanna turns the pages of a large volume she'd read from when Gretel had first visited. "He will most likely be dead within the week."

"That's not an option."

The witch looks up. "It very much is so. Any attempts at curing him could also get you killed, my dear. I doubt your, ah, _brother_ would appreciate that." Gretel ignores the change in intonation. "However." She turns to her shelf and pulls out another volume. "There is something you could do. The choice to do so is yours." She pulls down another book and points to a passage.

Gretel reads silently. "Cut off his _penis?_ "

The witch shrugs. "It's been known to work." 

"Right." She continues. Stops. Looks up. "Do all of these work?"

"For your brother's particular ailment, yes."

"Which one works the fastest?" Hanna smiles and taps the second-to-last paragraph on the page. Gretel snaps the book shut. "I'll return this to you when my brother is well enough to travel." 

"No need." She hands Gretel a bag of herbs and squeezes her shoulder. "I'm sure you'll have more use for it than I."

 

 

 

On the fourth night, she watches him change. She needs to see it, and he doesn't have the energy to beg her to leave. She sits across the room, her crossbow pointed at the cage while he rolls into himself, groans dragging out into screams, screams becoming howls. 

"I can't--" is all he says, before his spine curves impossibly and she watches dark brown fur begin growing over every inch of him, his legs bending and breaking and regrowing. Everything about him becomes long and thin and sickly and when it's done, Gretel crawls closer to the cage. He doesn't make a move from where he lays, only lifting his head long enough to whine and lay back down.

"Hansel?" He sighs at the mention of his name. Gretel reaches between the bars, daring to stroke the top of his head. She'd read about striking him with a knife, but there is something so infinitely sad about the creature in the cage she can't bring herself to do anything but scratch gently behind his hears. He shifts closer to her, sticking his nose between the bars. "I'll save you," she says quietly, reaching up to undo the lock on the cage. He's so thin and fits perfectly into her arms as she hefts him up and carries him into the other room. Hansel whines, squirming in her arms at the sudden shock of being lifted. She brings him into the other room, away from the smell of raw meat and sick animal. "You sleep here tonight," she murmurs, and sets him on the bed. She hasn't slept in it herself since they've been there, but tonight, she settles onto the mattress, her back against the wall, his head in her lap. "You sleep with me."

 

 

 

Gretel wakes up with Hansel snoring in her lap, both her legs tingling and asleep. She pushes him off. "Get up."

"No."

"Come on, I have work to do." He groans and rolls over, grabbing at the quilt at the end of the bed and dragging it over him. "I can see your ass, put it away." He waves her off and begins to snore again. 

She has to find wolfsbane, which is the most ridiculously named plant she's ever heard of, and she's heard of a lot. It's an elegant, purple flower, and she gathers enough to make a tea, brings it back and finds him sitting up in the cage again, dressed and cleaning his gun. 

"You don't have to sit there."

"You put me here."

"I was worried." 

"Right."

Gretel crosses her arms over her chest. "Don't start this. _Please_ , don't."

"What's that?" he asks instead. She raises the plant. "Monkshood?"

"Wolfsbane."

"Same thing," he mutters, reaching for his mug of water. He stops. "Wolfsbane."

"Yes. I said that. Is your hearing going, too?"

"Is that all we needed?" She doesn't answer, instead taking another mug from the collection and heating water. "Gretel. You have to tell me what you're doing. I _need_ to know what's happening." He stops. "I need to know _something._ "

"The witch gave me a book. With cures in it." She opens it in her lap, keeping her eyes down. "We could cut off your penis," she says casually. He chokes on his water. "We could smack you in the head with a knife while shouting your Christian name." He snorts. "We could hit you in the head with a silver blade."

"Ow."

"Yes, Hansel. _Ow._ " She clears her throat. "Or we could...we could do this." She turns the book so he can read it. He stops. "She says it's the most effective."

"I'll bet she does," he mutters. 

"She says it's the _quickest._ The others might not work, and you could bite me if I hurt you and you're scared--"

"I'm not _scared_ ," he mutters, but he reads the passage again. "The quickest?"

"Yes."

"Makes sense I s'pose." Hansel sniffs. Looks away. "S'not like we haven't...like we..." Gretel turns and looks into the fire. "I don't want you to _have_ to do this. It's your choice as much as mine--"

"I want you to be okay." 

"Yeah, but I'm not gonna fuck you like this."

"Like what?" She turns back to him. "Without my permission? You have it. You have everything of me."

"Gretel."

"You are everything. You have everything. You are _the only thing._ Why would I not? You know how I feel--"

"S'not right," he says gruffly, and there is her older brother again, looking out for her even when she has everything under control.

"Who says?" He stays quiet. "Ask me if I want it."

"What?"

She goes to the bars, grabbing up his hands in hers and pressing her forehead against the cage. " _Ask if I want this._ "

"Gretel--"

" _Ask. Me._ "

He takes a shaky breath. "Do you want this?"

"Yes." She swallows. "Do you?"

Hansel smiles. "Yes."

 

 

 

This isn't the first time she's kissed her brother. It isn't even the second, third, or fourth. Gretel doesn't know how many times she's kissed him, but she knows that she likes the way he holds while they do the most. The way his hands cover her hips and draw her closer, keep her anchored to him. 

"Drink," she says, lifting the mug to lips. He obeys, swallowing everything down before pressing his lips to hers again. "Hold still."

"Do _not_ put that thing on my dick."

"Hansel."

"I really hate it."

"I really don't care." She rolls the thin piece of skin over his cock, something she had picked up on a whim a few jobs back, when she had thought the innkeeper's son was going to turn out to be a gentleman rather than the bastard child of a hell demon. But still. Points for thinking ahead. "Drink the other," she orders, and he picks up the other mug and downs it all. "Hold still." 

She wraps her hand around him, bracing herself with her other hand on his shoulder before lining him up with her cunt and sinking down. He gasps, putting both hands on her back and holding her close. " _Jesus._ " 

She grins. "No blasphemies, please."

"Yeah, that's what I'll worry about." Hansel presses his lips to her shoulder, breathes and nods. "Okay. Okay, come on. You good? You feel okay?"

"It's fine." It hurts, really, because it's been months if she's honest, but she holds herself there and when she moves, the bed under them groans in protest. "Pray for strength," she murmurs, and he finally laughs. "The book says we have to exhaust you."

"So exhaust me," he murmurs. 

Gretel smiles. "Anything for you."

 

 

 

On the fifth night, he wakes her up and kisses her, his cock hard on her thigh. Gretel rolls the skin over him again and he slides easily into her, keeping his thumb pressed to her clit while he fucks her slowly, even after she comes, even after the second time. She pushes him awake, strokes him until his hips buck against her and he groans into her shoulder.

On the morning of the sixth day, she wakes him up with a mug of tea made from the wolfsbane, and he drinks it and falls back to sleep.

On the sixth night, Gretel stays away, watching him from the other side of the room, crossbow in her lap. He twitches once, rolls over and reaches for her. She gives in and sets the bow aside, stripping out of her clothes and crawling into the space next to him. 

"I saved you," she says quietly and Gretel isn't sure if he hears, but it's enough to know she did. 

 

 

 

Gretel turns the book over in her hands, flipping between the pages. 

"You gonna keep it?" Hansel clasps the last buckle on his pants and grins. "Anymore, uh, special cures in there? What if I start turning into a goose or something?"

"I'm going to figure out _how_ to turn you into a goose and then I'm just going to carry you around in a cage."

Hansel snorts. "I think you just like keeping me locked up." Gretel flushes. "Uh huh."

"We should get going."

"Mmhm." He grins, grabbing her hand and pulling her close before they leave. "You saved me," he says quietly, brushing his lips against her jaw. "My hero."

"Just doing my job."

He laughs. "Didn't know keepin' me alive was a requirement." 

"Yes," she says simply, and he flushes under her gaze. "It is." 

Hansel clears his throat, letting her go. "Yeah. We should get going. Got a lot of ground to cover."

Gretel smiles as he leaves the cabin, throwing one last look over her shoulder about the mess they've left behind -- the cage and the bloody plates and the torn bits of clothing strewn across the floor. 

Hansel shouts from outside: "You paintin' a picture in there or we gonna go?"

"Town's not going anywhere," she snaps back, but she turns her back on the cabin anyway, because she doesn't need to keep looking to know this isn't something they'll forget. 

Gretel puts the book into her bag, throws it over her shoulder, and leaves it all behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from this little gem on the wikipedia page for wolfsbane/monkshood: "The name comes from the Greek ἀκόνιτον meaning 'without struggle'." It seemed appropriate.


End file.
